WonNovels

A bet.

That was all it took for Ethan to lose me to his twin brother.

I played dumb—truly, convincingly dumb—and let myself get tangled up with his brother for one reckless night.

Then the next morning, cheeks burning, I asked Ethan to buy me ointment.

“Where are you uncomfortable?” he asked, frowning slightly, his voice clipped and cold.

I swallowed and mumbled, “You were too rough last night. You… you hurt me.”

Ethan froze like he’d been slapped.

I stepped closer anyway, slid my arms around him, and pressed in with a deliberately sweet little pout.

“But you were so different last night,” I whispered, syrupy and pleased. “And I loved it.”

1

“I’m done. I lose. Tonight, Claire’s yours.”

Ethan loosened his tie and leaned back, lazy and loose-limbed, sinking into the leather sofa like he owned the room.

Across from him sat Lucas—half his face swallowed by shadow, the other half lit by the dim, amber glow of the private lounge. He didn’t drink. He barely moved.

His voice came low and even. “You’re letting her go that easily?”

Ethan laughed, all swagger. “It’s not every day I see my brother actually look at a woman twice.”

He tipped his glass in Lucas’s direction like he was offering a toast. “If you like her, I’m happy to be generous.”

Lucas didn’t respond.

Ethan’s smile sharpened. “I mean… she’s been with me a year. If you’re worried about that—if you’re picky—”

Lucas stood abruptly, grabbed his coat off the chair with one smooth motion. “No need. I’ll take her.”

For a brief second, Ethan looked like he’d swallowed the wrong thing.

Then the grin snapped back into place, bright and careless. “Fine. Have fun tonight, big brother.”

Lucas adjusted his glasses with a flick of his fingers, gave a minimal nod, and strode out of the room.

2

The second he left, the place came alive again.

“Ethan—seriously? You meant that?”

“Dude, you chased her for three months,” someone said, incredulous. “You were practically a saint about it. And now, not even a year later, you’re bored?”

Ethan lifted his drink. “A bet’s a bet.”

“And anyway,” he added, as if it were nothing, “she’s just a woman.”

Someone snorted. “I thought Claire was different to you.”

Ethan took a slow sip, looking amused. “At first, she was. She acted all above it—hard to get.”

He shrugged. “Now? She’s not any different from the rest.”

“She’s obedient as hell around me.”

A guy across the table laughed. “So what—next time you can lend her to me for a night?”

Ethan’s face dropped.

His glass hit the floor with a hard crack.

The guy’s smile died on his lips.

Another voice cut in, wary now. “But what if Lucas actually touches her? What then?”

“He won’t,” Ethan said flatly.

“My brother doesn’t do women. He’s got a freakish thing about cleanliness. He wouldn’t even share a bottle with someone.”

Someone else leaned forward, thrilled by the drama. “Maybe. But last time Claire wore that short dress—Lucas looked at her legs more than once.”

Ethan gave a cold, humorless laugh. “He just hates women who try too hard. That’s all.”

“Bet on it,” somebody egged. “Come on, Ethan—bet.”

Ethan huffed. “You idiots are forgetting something.”

“Claire’s crazy about me.”

He set his glass down, eyes sharp. “She’d rather smash her head into a wall than let another man touch her.”

“If you want to gamble on that,” he added, standing, “you’d better be prepared to lose everything you own.”

He walked out.

In the hallway, a young woman—pretty, fresh-faced, and clearly waiting—smiled when she saw him.

Ethan’s eyes darkened with a rush of alcohol and appetite. He shoved her back against the wall, pinned her there, and kissed her hard.

3

I stood with my back against the door, listening, breathing shallowly.

I always slept heavy after a couple of drinks.

That was why Ethan spoke like I didn’t exist—like I wasn’t a person who could wake, hear, remember.

It was bad luck, really.

Or maybe good luck.

Because this time I jolted awake from a nightmare, heart racing, and wandered toward the door at the exact moment their voices turned ugly.

And in that one instant, the fairytale snapped clean in half.

I didn’t push the door open.

I didn’t storm in and scream.

Because if Ethan could so casually gamble me away to another man, then in his mind I was less than nothing.

And if I made a scene—if I embarrassed him in front of his friends—people like them didn’t have to lift a finger to ruin a girl like me.

All they had to do was decide they were annoyed.

I went back to the bed, numb, and lay down again.

The blanket didn’t help. I was shaking anyway, cold all the way through.

Then the door opened.

Footsteps crossed the room and stopped beside the bed.

And the scent that followed wasn’t Ethan’s.

It was cool pine—clean, restrained, unfamiliar.

My fingers curled into the sheets. I kept my eyes closed.

The covers lifted gently.

Arms slid under me, and I was picked up as if I weighed nothing.

“Claire,” a man’s voice said, lower than Ethan’s, and—God—it went straight under my skin. “Sleep at home.”

I played the part.

I opened my eyes, draped my arms around his neck, and let my voice go soft and drowsy.

“Ethan… you finally came.”

His body tightened—just slightly, but enough for me to feel it.

When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, more controlled. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Mmhmm. My head hurts.”

“We’ll get you something warm when we’re back.”

He carried me out into the hallway. His arms were solid, steady. His steps didn’t sway at all.

I buried my face in his chest and breathed in that pine-clean scent like it was a drug.

“You smell good tonight.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, smiling to myself. “Better than your usual cologne.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like it.”

He stopped for a fraction of a second.

The corridor lights were dim. The place was quiet—empty.

Then he lowered his head and kissed the corner of my mouth, so light it could’ve been an accident.

“Good,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Then it’s fine.”

4

Two days earlier, I’d met Lucas for the first time.

That was the night I learned Ethan had a twin.

Lucas was the one everyone talked about in vague, reverent terms—the one who spent most of his time overseas, the one Ethan never mentioned unless someone forced the subject.

Ethan seemed to fear him. Or resent him. Maybe both.

All evening, Lucas barely looked at me.

He said exactly one sentence, polite and distant, as if reading it from a script.

“Miss Claire,” he said. “You have a beautiful name.”

I didn’t understand why he’d agree to something as grotesque as that wager.

But I understood something else, instinctively, and it hit me like a warning flare:

If I wanted to walk away from this little game their kind liked to play, I might only have one route out.

Lucas.

Even at first glance, I could tell he and Ethan were made of different things.

Ethan was chaos dressed up in charm.

Lucas was control, sharpened into a weapon.

That night, I came out of the bathroom still warm from the shower, hair damp against my shoulders.

Lucas stepped behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

When he leaned down to kiss me, I laughed softly, half teasing. “You’re impatient tonight, Ethan.”

The kiss paused.

Then a voice—quiet, firm—brushed my lips.

“Call me something else.”

I blinked. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Think,” he said, like he was testing me. “What have you called me before?”

I pretended to remember, counting on my fingers with mock innocence. “Your name. Mr. Ethan. And—oh—right. I’ve called you ‘husband’ once or twice.”

The heat in his breathing shifted, darkened.

He murmured, “Then tonight call me brother. You’ve never said that.”

“Brother?” I echoed, genuinely startled this time.

And then his mouth came down again, and the rest of the sentence dissolved in the force of it.

He pushed me back onto the bed.

The room was lit only by the soft glow of a sleep lamp.

I reached up and traced the line of his brow, the bridge of his nose.

He turned his face slightly, letting me touch him, as if he didn’t want to flinch or give anything away.

My fingers slid down.

His robe loosened and fell open, discarded at the edge of the mattress, tangled with the hem of my pale slip.

His hand—strong, sure—locked on my waist.

“Claire,” he said, and hearing my name in his voice made my pulse stutter.

“Yeah?” I breathed.

Then he moved, abruptly, decisively, and my breath broke on a sound I couldn’t swallow back.

Tears sprang up, more from shock than pain.

Before they could fall, he kissed them away, mouth hot against my skin.

“Say it again,” he demanded, low and rough.

“Etha—”

The pressure increased, overwhelming.

My voice splintered.

He lifted his head just enough to look down at me. “You forgot already?”

His gaze pinned me, unblinking.

“Brother,” I whispered, shaking.

My fingers dug into the hard muscle of his forearm.

Something in him snapped loose—like he’d been waiting for that word to unlock him.

He made me say it again.

And again.

“Brother.”

“Brother…”

I knew it wasn’t Ethan.

I knew exactly what I was doing.

And I didn’t stop.

Because I was already thinking past the morning.

Past the fallout.

Past the way Ethan’s world could crush mine with a single bored flick of his hand.

5

When I opened my eyes, daylight was already flooding the room.

My body ached—every inch of me tender and sore, like I’d been wrung out and tossed aside.

I was alone.

Lucas was gone.

I forced myself up, bare feet cold against the floor, and walked to the window.

The curtains slid back automatically.

Down in the garden, I saw Ethan.

My vision tightened. My fingers curled into fists at my sides without me meaning to.

Then I inhaled, slowly, and pushed everything down.

Emotion was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I showered, dressed, and chose an off-the-shoulder dress that didn’t hide anything—the marks along my neck, the bruised shadows near my collarbone.

Let him see.

Let him think what he deserved to think.

When Ethan came in, I was halfway down the staircase, moving carefully, as if each step took effort.

He stopped short. “What’s wrong with you?”

I pressed my lips together and glanced at the staff nearby—the house manager, the woman dusting the hallway table.

I said nothing until I reached the bottom.

Then I stepped closer to Ethan and tugged lightly on his sleeve like I used to, like I still believed in him.

“Could you… could you buy me some ointment?”

His brows drew together. “Ointment? For what?”

I bit my lip, cheeks flaming. “You were too rough last night. I didn’t even realize until I showered this morning.”

“I—” I swallowed, making my voice small. “I’m bleeding. It hurts.”

Ethan went still.

Then his hand shot out and clamped on my shoulders. “What did you say?”

I blinked up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, playing the part perfectly.

“I mean… last night. You were… you went too hard.”

“I thought I was going to die,” I whispered dramatically, as if it were a lover’s complaint.

Then I stepped into him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

I tilted my face up, flushed and sweet and stupid.

“But you were different last night,” I said breathlessly. “So much better. So… intense.”

“Ethan, I loved it.”

He stared at me like he couldn’t process the words.

His face went gray, then darker, then hard.

I kept going, babbling like a girl in love.

“You’re so bad,” I murmured. “I cried. I begged you. And you still wouldn’t stop…”

His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump.

Finally, he shoved me back, abruptly, like he needed distance.

“I’ll get the ointment,” he said harshly. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”

He turned and walked out fast.

Only when he was gone did the smile drain from my face, little by little, until there was nothing left.

6

I had the kitchen make what I liked—food that felt safe, ordinary.

Halfway through lunch, I heard the sound of a car pulling up.

I set my fork down and went to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Lucas stepped out of a black sedan.

Up close, the differences between the twins weren’t hard to see.

Lucas was slightly taller. His build was more solid, his posture straighter, like he carried weight that wasn’t just muscle.

But today he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

The suit was black, tailored—similar enough to Ethan’s that, from behind, you could be fooled if you wanted to be.

And I very much wanted to be.

I pushed the door open and walked out.

The second Lucas looked up, I let a shy, sugary smile bloom across my face.

I even made my steps a little unsteady, like I was still sore.

“Ethan,” I called softly, as if relieved. “Did you get it? Where’s my ointment?”

Lucas’s gaze slid over me.

He didn’t deny it. Not immediately.

I looped my arm through his and started patting his pockets like a playful girlfriend.

“Where’d you hide it?” I teased.

When my hand reached his slacks pocket, his fingers closed over my wrist—firm, stopping me.

“What ointment?” he asked, voice rougher than before, as if the words scraped his throat.

I stomped my foot, pouty. “Don’t pretend. I told you—I’m hurt. You did it.”

Lucas didn’t answer.

But I saw his throat work, the slow roll of his swallow beneath the neatly buttoned collar.

His brows tightened, a faint crease of irritation—or restraint.

Then he tugged his tie looser, like he needed air, and looked down at me.

“I just remembered,” he said evenly. “A doctor needs to see the injury first. Otherwise we don’t know what to prescribe.”

“Ethan!” I snapped, scandalized, cheeks blazing.

His gaze dragged, unhurried, over the bruised marks on my neck, the shadows at my collarbone.

Something dark flared in his eyes—something that made my skin go hot, made my breath catch.

“Why are you blushing?” he murmured. “Claire. It’s not like I haven’t seen you.”

“I’m not talking to you,” I huffed, turning away.

Lucas caught my wrist again.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Stop. I’m not teasing you.”

He pulled me back, close, until my back pressed against his chest, the fit exact and unavoidable.

His breath brushed my ear, hot and close.

For a split second I thought he was going to kiss me.

I closed my eyes on instinct.

And then a car engine roared into the driveway.

I snapped my head around with Lucas.

A black car skidded to a stop.

Before it had even settled, the door flung open.

Ethan got out.

He stood there, rigid, staring at Lucas’s arms wrapped around me.

His face was expressionless—too still.

Like frost.

7

My eyes widened, and I turned, panicked, toward Lucas—like I’d just realized something terrible.

Ethan walked toward us, slow and measured, carrying a small pharmacy bag in one hand.

A smile sat on his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said lightly. “Big brother. Claire. What’s going on?”

“B-big brother?” I gasped, and shoved Lucas away as if burned.

“Ethan—I—I messed up,” I stammered, voice cracking. “He wasn’t wearing his glasses. I thought… I thought he was you.”

By the end, my throat was tight with tears. My eyes were red. My hands shook.

Ethan yanked me behind him with a rough jerk.

“Claire,” he hissed, “are you out of your mind? You can’t even recognize your own boyfriend?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping at my face.

Then I looked at Lucas, terrified and apologetic.

“I didn’t mean it. I really thought he was you…”

Lucas glanced at me once.

“It’s not her fault,” he said calmly. “Twins get mistaken all the time.”

Then he looked at Ethan.

His voice stayed mild, but the threat underneath it was unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

Ethan forced a careless grin. “She’s the one who’s dumb.”

“You’ve been sleeping next to me for a year,” he added, voice sharp now. “And you can’t tell the difference?”

Lucas’s reply was simple. “She’s met me once. It makes sense.”

Ethan lifted his brows. “Fine. I’ll apologize.”

Lucas didn’t respond. He turned and walked away.

Ethan stood there a few seconds, then faced me again.

He lifted the pharmacy bag and shook it slightly, as if reminding me he’d brought the thing I asked for.

“Upstairs,” he said. “Back to the bedroom.”

“Let me see where you’re hurt,” he added, eyes flat. “I’ll put this on you myself.”

8

My fingernails dug into my palm.

If I’d guessed right, Ethan had spent last night with someone else.

And now he wanted to touch me.

A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach so fast I nearly gagged.

I swallowed it down.

I followed him upstairs.

He washed his hands in the bathroom, slow and deliberate, then came out and looked at me from above, his gaze cold enough to cut.

“Take it off,” he said. “Lie down. Now.”

I flinched and forced my face into hurt confusion.

“Ethan,” I whispered, “why are you being so mean to me today?”

In the past year—whether it had been real affection or calculated deception—he’d been gentle with me.

This was the first time he’d spoken like this, like I was something he could order around.

“Are you still mad,” I asked carefully, “because I mistook your brother for you?”

“No.” He cut me off. “You’re overthinking.”

Then his voice softened—almost perfectly—like he’d flipped a switch.

“I’m just worried about you,” he said. “Are you still bleeding? Let me see.”

I should’ve felt relief.

Instead, fear crawled up my spine.

Because I hadn’t accepted Ethan’s pursuit out of love.

I’d accepted it because I was afraid.

Someone had told me a story—deliberately, pointedly.

Ethan had once dated a dancer. Proud, untouchable. He’d pursued her relentlessly until she believed she was the one who’d changed him.

After they got together, she got comfortable. She got demanding.

Less than six months later, Ethan got bored.

He found someone new.

The dancer found out, and she snapped. She made a scene. She damaged his car in a parking garage and embarrassed him in front of his friends.

Ethan hadn’t said a word.

But a few days later, people started whispering that she’d suffered an accident during rehearsal.

A fall.

She lived, but her spine didn’t. The rest of her life was gone.

The person who told me the story had “advised” me with a sympathetic look.

“Claire, be careful,” they said. “Don’t push him too far.”

“I heard he had someone look into your family.”

Ethan was the kind of man you couldn’t fight.

Not if you wanted to keep breathing.

So I’d said yes.

And once I did, I’d been careful—always careful. Soft-spoken. Agreeable. Grateful.

For a whole year, he’d treated me well enough that sometimes—stupidly—I’d let myself dream.

And now I was a chip on a table.

My thoughts tangled into a knot.

Ethan pressed me down onto the edge of the bed.

He crouched in front of me and took hold of my calf, fingers closing with proprietary ease.

He separated my knees with a casual push, as if it were nothing.

A smile tugged at his mouth when he looked up at me.

“You must’ve been the one who got me worked up,” he said, voice low. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone that hard.”

I turned my face away and bit the inside of my cheek until it hurt, fighting down the sickness rising in my throat.

His hand slid under the hem of my dress.

And just as his fingers found the last barrier—

A knock hit the bedroom door.

“Ethan,” Lucas’s voice said from the hallway, steady and cold. “Study. Now.”

The words carried weight. Warning. A restrained anger that didn’t need volume.

Ethan swore under his breath.

But he stood immediately.

He shoved the ointment into my hand. “Do it yourself,” he snapped. “I’m going to the study.”

He walked out.

Only then did I exhale, long and shaking, like I’d been holding my breath for a year.

9

My phone buzzed.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

This is Lucas. Save my number.

I stared at the message longer than I should have.

Then I typed back:

Okay, brother.

He didn’t reply.

Ethan didn’t return to the bedroom either.

Before leaving the estate, he called me. Said there was a problem at one of the company’s West Coast subsidiaries. He had to fly out for a few days.

Even through the phone, I could hear the strain in his voice.

Whatever had happened, it wasn’t minor.

It gave me something I hadn’t had in a long time—

Room to breathe.

The next morning, I packed up to return to campus.

As I stepped downstairs, I ran straight into Lucas.

This time he was wearing his glasses.

The cold reflection on the lenses made him look distant again—untouchable. Nothing like the man who had held me down in the dark.

I lowered my gaze, polite and composed.

“Good morning, brother.”

He gave a small nod. “Going back to school?”

“Yes.”

“I’m heading that way. I’ll drive you.”

“I can take an Uber,” I said quickly.

“Ethan’s away,” he replied evenly. “It’s only appropriate that I look after you.”

There was no room in his tone for argument.

“Have breakfast first.”

I barely touched the food.

He didn’t comment.

In the car, once the door shut, Lucas pressed a button and the privacy screen slid up between us and the driver.

My pulse jumped.

“Brother?”

He removed his glasses and placed them neatly in the compartment beside him.

Only then did he turn toward me.

“How’s the injury?”

Heat flooded my face instantly.

“It’s… better.”

He nodded once, then reached into the side pocket and produced another tube.

“If it’s healed, use this instead.”

I stared at it like it might explode.

“I—I don’t need it,” I stammered. “Ethan already helped me.”

Lucas’s expression didn’t change.

But something about him grew colder.

“Take it,” he said quietly. “This one works better.”

I shook my head harder. My throat tightened.

“Please. Ethan was already upset that I confused you. If he finds out I took something from you, he’ll think…”

I let my voice trail off.

Lucas watched me for several seconds.

Then he lowered his hand.

“You care that much what he thinks?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“He’s my first boyfriend.”

I forced a soft smile, letting warmth bloom in my eyes.

“He’s always been so good to me.”

“I love him.”

Lucas let out a faint sound—something like a breath of laughter, though it carried no humor.

He turned his face forward.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

When we arrived, I reached for the door.

“Thank you, brother. I’ll see you later.”

I stepped out—

“Claire.”

I turned.

He held the tube out once more.

“This one is best for scars.”

My chest tightened.

“You can use it on the old one on your calf.”

My fingers froze.

“How do you know about that scar?”

Lucas didn’t answer.

He simply pressed the ointment into my palm.

The car pulled away moments later.

I stood there, watching until it vanished.

Then I took out my phone and messaged Ethan.

I miss you. Is it really ten more days?

He replied quickly.

About that. I’ll try to wrap things up sooner.

I’ll wait for you at home, I wrote.

10

The days moved slowly.

With Ethan gone, the estate felt strangely peaceful.

Lucas didn’t contact me again.

That night—those nights—felt almost unreal. Like something my body remembered but my mind refused to process.

Sometimes I even wondered—

Was it really Lucas?

Why would a man like him—disciplined, powerful, controlled—play such a vulgar game with his brother?

Friday afternoon, Ethan called.

He was flying back that evening.

“Be home when I get there,” he said.

I packed and returned to the estate.

After showering, I curled up on the sofa scrolling through my phone while I waited.

At some point, I fell asleep.

I don’t know how long I slept.

The sound of the door opening pulled me back to the surface.

I pushed myself upright, blinking through haze.

A tall silhouette walked toward me against the backlight.

And then—

That scent.

Cool pine.

My heart clenched.

He came closer.

No glasses.

Just like that night.

I reached out to him automatically.

“Come here,” I murmured.

When he bent and gathered me into his arms, I kissed his jaw lightly and complained in a small, sleepy voice:

“You’re late…”

“I waited so long I fell asleep.”

His breathing stalled.

But his arms tightened around me—hard enough that I gasped.

I nipped at the side of his neck.

“You’re hurting me again.”

“I just healed, you know.”

“Tonight you’re not allowed to bully me, Ethan.”

11

“What did you call me?”

His fingers closed around my chin.

He turned my face toward his.

His breath was hot against my lips.

Then he kissed me.

At first it was gentle.

Then it wasn’t.

“Did you miss me?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes…”

“Miss who?”

“Ethan—”

He bit my lower lip.

Hard.

Pain burst through me and tears sprang up instantly.

Before I could finish saying Ethan’s name, he swallowed the sound with another kiss—deeper, more consuming.

He gave me no space to breathe.

No room to retreat.

When he finally pulled back, I was pinned beneath him, chest heaving.

He brushed his thumb under my eye, wiping away tears.

“One more time,” he said quietly.

“What do you call me?”

I trembled.

“Brother.”

He closed his eyes briefly, like he’d just been handed something sacred.

“Again.”

“Brother.”

By the time he was done with me, my mind felt distant from my body.

He leaned close to my ear.

“Do you like it when I treat you this way?”

I tried to shake my head.

But I didn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

This time, unlike before, there had been no pain.

Only something overwhelming.

Something dangerous.

“Would you want me to do this to you every day?”

“That would hurt,” I whispered.

“You never used to be this rough…”

He shifted slightly, searching my face.

“Did I hurt you tonight?”

I shook my head.

“Then did it feel good?”

My cheeks burned.

Bodies don’t lie.

Lucas gave me something Ethan never had.

Maybe it was the forbidden edge of it.

Maybe it was because I had never truly loved Ethan.

And now—now I feared him.

Maybe even hated him.

“Yes,” I admitted softly.

“It felt good.”

Something ignited in Lucas’s eyes.

He flipped me beneath him again, our fingers lacing together.

“From now on,” he said, voice low, steady, “only with me. All right?”

I laughed breathlessly.

“What are you saying?”

“Of course only with you, Ethan—”

“Don’t say the name.”

His voice turned cold.

I blinked at him.

“What’s wrong with you lately?”

He reached up and covered my eyes gently with his hand.

“I like it when you call me brother.”

“Every time you do, I lose control.”

“From now on, use that.”

My hand moved to push his away.

My fingers brushed against his thumb—

And there it was.

The scar.

Across the web of his hand.

For a split second, something flickered through my mind.

Something old.

Something sharp.

But I couldn’t catch it.

After a moment, I whispered,

“Okay.”

“Brother.”

12

Lucas dismissed the household staff for several days.

He stayed openly at the estate.

We ate together.

Walked in the garden.

At night, he didn’t hold back.

On the third evening, he drove me to a marina restaurant by the river.

We ate seafood on a moored boat. I drank too much sweet wine.

On the way back, I was too dizzy to walk.

Lucas carried me down from the dock.

His fingers brushed the old scar on my calf.

“How did this happen?” he asked quietly.

I rested against his back, eyes half-closed.

“When I was little,” I murmured, “there was a boy.”

“He was awful.”

“Rich. Spoiled. All the other kids followed him around.”

“I didn’t.”

“The more I ignored him, the more he followed me.”

“But I wasn’t like him. I had to help my parents at the food stall. Take care of my baby brother.”

“One day he annoyed me so much I fought him.”

I laughed softly.

“I lost. Obviously.”

“He pushed me. I hit the edge of a flowerbed. There was blood everywhere.”

“But I bit him.”

“Hard.”

“I bit his hand until I tasted blood.”

“He cried so loudly.”

I smiled faintly.

“He wasn’t really bad. Just soft.”

“Later he brought me medicine.”

“Told me the scar looked like a flower petal.”

Lucas’s voice came from somewhere above me.

“And after that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“He left soon after.”

“Probably his parents took him away.”

“I was too busy working to think about it.”

My voice faded.

I was already drifting.

“Claire,” Lucas said softly.

He said something else after that.

But I didn’t hear it.

13

The night Ethan officially returned, Lucas arranged a family dinner.

I deliberately asked Lucas earlier that day,

“Why wait several days after Ethan came back to host this?”

Lucas stared at me for a long moment.

His eyes were unreadable—deep and dark.

I forced a smile and ran off to find Ethan.

Even without looking back, I could feel Lucas’s gaze following me.

At dinner, Ethan seemed tense.

He was on his third drink when I reached out and pressed my hand over his glass.

“Brother, don’t drink so much. Your stomach can’t handle it.”

The room went still.

Lucas’s fork struck his plate with a sharp, metallic sound.

Ethan frowned.

“What did you just call me?”

I blinked up at him, cheeks flushed.

“Brother. You said you liked it.”

“Claire!”

He slammed his plate aside.

I flinched and covered my head instinctively.

“Who have you been calling that?” he demanded.

He grabbed my collar, hauling me halfway out of my chair.

“I— you said you liked it,” I cried.

“I never—”

His voice cut off mid-sentence.

Because he had just realized.

He looked at Lucas.

Lucas rose slowly.

The air shifted.

“Don’t frighten her,” Lucas said.

“Let her go.”

Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot.&